


week 4 // french riviera

by zfic



Series: ichiruki month 2K20 *.~ [4]
Category: Bleach
Genre: F/M, IchiRuki Month, Ichiruki, Just dorks in love, Mention - Freeform, Urahara Kisuke - Freeform, french riviera au, ichiruki month 2020, spy AU, yoruichi shihoin - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:34:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26173528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zfic/pseuds/zfic
Summary: what happens after a reunion?
Relationships: Kuchiki Rukia & Kurosaki Ichigo, Kuchiki Rukia/Kurosaki Ichigo
Series: ichiruki month 2K20 *.~ [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1875241
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	week 4 // french riviera

**Author's Note:**

> continuation of french riviera spy au from ichiruki month 2018! check it out on my profile x
> 
> also i highly recommend listening to lucienne boyer's 'parlez moi d'amour' while reading this - it is the song in italics!
> 
> as always thank you for reading, please lmk what you think and i hope you enjoy!

_Parlez moi d’amour..._

They fall onto feathered quilts and soft pillows, the breeze from the open balcony doors fluttering at the light curtains hung in front of them. Rukia giggles, she _giggles_ , and tilts her head back to let him kiss along the ivory column of her throat.

_Redites-moi des choses tendres..._

Paris beyond the walls of their hotel room is distant and quiet. Or perhaps it is the same Paris,hustling and bustling below Le Hôtel de Crillon. Yes, it was all the same; le Place de la Concorde and les Champs-Élysées is flooded with people and persons as usual, they just don’t care that special agents Ichigo Kurosaki and Rukia Kuchiki are taking more than a moment to breathe. To touch, to kiss, to speak.

“You feel real.” He murmurs, hands running up her thighs to lift the skirt of her pale yellow sundress up around her hips, “Even that night didn’t feel real, but this...”

Rukia lifts her hips, watching how the dusky light catches like new-found gold in his eyes, and she tucks a knuckle between her teeth. 

Ichigo’s gaze flicks up to meet hers as he pulls her underwear down her legs, “This is real.”

“I promised, didn’t I?” She murmurs back, stretching her legs out to rest her calves atop his thighs, “I promised to see you again. And I kept it.”

_Votre beau discours..._

He laughs, and she smiles at his joy, now so unkempt and unpoliced. Ichigo leans forward to kiss her, mating their tongues together slowly, newly, in a way they couldn’t afford to a year ago.

Rukia sighs beneath him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Her eyebrows draw together and that last gunfight, the blood pooling across his white shirt as he clutched his side and told her to take Aizen and go plays like a showreel in her head. The way he kissed her then, a rain of bullets flying over their heads from where they took cover between cars in the parking lot underneath the Paris Opéra Bastille.

Aizen, beaten to a pulp beside them, had laughed, “Like some kind of movie scene.”

She had to leave him, dragging Aizen along with her as he rushed behind a column to let his semi automatic loose on the rogue agents and highly trained thugs attacking them. The last she heard as Rukia sprinted through the exit and shoved Aizen into the back of her waiting armoured van was the sound of his clip running out and his handgun shooting precise, deadly bullets at their assailants.

But it is here, now, that Rukia is sure would be her favourite scene if their lives really were in the movies. Here, they are safe and alive. She moans into his mouth when his rough fingers find the juncture of her thighs. Like he said, better that this is real life, no?

“I love you.” He says against her lips.

_Mon cœur n'est pas las de l'entendre..._

“Maybe I shouldn’t say it now,” he strokes her, swallowing when he feels how wet she is, “but I think I have to.”

_Pourvu que toujours..._

“I love you, too.”

_Vous répétiez ces mots suprêmes..._

“Fuck.” And his kisses are suddenly insistent, needy. As if he’s grown enough courage to let himself cage her against him, throw her dress off and hike her legs high up his hips. The courage to step into the reality where she’s flesh and bone and sighs and pants as he peels off his clothes and presses their bodies, uninterrupted, together.

_Je vous aime..._

Rukia pulls at his hair, a whine escaping her as he bites down on her shoulder, marking her, and sheathes himself inside her. 

Ichigo moans, a soft, low thing, and props himself above her to watch has he takes his time fucking into her. She scrapes her violet-painted nails down the front of his chest, lips parted.

_Vous savez bien,_

_Que dans le fond, je n'en crois rien..._

But _she_ wasn’t the one _he_ had to leave.

Quickly, too quick to let him stop her or even _argue_ , she flips them over and sinks down onto him, placing her hands flat against his abdomen to keep down. To let her have this.

_Mais cependant je veux encore,_

_Écouter ces mots que j'adore..._

She smiles down at him through the haze of long-awaited pleasure, rocking her hips as his hands encircle her waist - sun-kissed on alabaster skin. He snickers, and thrusts up into her, fingers on her breasts, swiping at the tight bundle of nerves between her legs, in her mouth.

_Votre voix aux sons caressants..._

His hair is a messy splash of orange against the cream pillows, the tilt of his mouth and the black tattoos that grows like ivy across his heart, his ribs, the side of his neck. Just some punk-kid from Tokyo that got caught up in too much at way too young and had to uproot his life to move halfway across the world and sell himself to a world of espionage and killing.

Where he met her.

_Qui le murmure en frémissant,_

_Me berce de sa belle histoire..._

Rukia cries out, her belly tightening as she quickens her pace, sharp thrills of desire shooting all throughout her body. Her thrusts become erratic, and he quickly sits up to hold her, bury his head in her breasts and fall over the edge with her.

They pant together, arms wrapped tight around one another. As if still convincing themselves that it was all true. That the year they had to spend part for each other’s safety, as per protocol, had finally ended.

_Et malgré moi je veux y croire..._

“How did you find me?”

She smiles, a light sheen of sweat glossing over her skin, “Urahara figured we both needed cheering up and helpfully had a way of,” she kisses the top of his head, “sorting things out.”

Ichigo snorts and lifts his head, taking her with him as he lay them back against the downy mattress, “Trust that old pervert to keep tabs on us.”

Rukia burrows her face against his, tracing the patterns of his chest tattoo with the tip of her finger, “I think the same thing happened between him and Agent Shihoin way back when.”

“You know Yoruichi?”

She hums, “She followed up after we brought Aizen back and Urahara took her out for coffee.”

“Just like that, huh?” His arm tightens around her waist, “Rukia-”

“Before you say anything, I have a surprise.”

He brings his hand up to the nape of her neck, guiding her head back to press a slanted grin to her lips, “Another one?”

_Parlez-moi d'amour..._

Rukia nods, kissing him again, before clambering over him and walking across the room to her bag. She rifles around in it and makes a satisfied little sound when she produces an open manilla envelope.

When she turns back to him, he’s staring at her, and he swings his legs off the side of the bed to sit and watch her approach.

_Redites-moi des choses tendres..._

She hands it to him, standing in between his knees, “Read this.”

He knows better than to ask what it is, so Ichigo simply frowns and reaches in to pull a couple of documents out. He scans over the print and his eyes widen, “Rukia, wait-”

“Listen, I-ugh.” She crosses her arms, irritated at her own awkwardness.

_Votre beau discours..._

"I want to stay with you.”

Ichigo’s breath catches in his throat, and he shakes his head, skimming down the document again, “Ruks,” he bites his lip, their eyes meet, “I submitted a transfer, too.”

_Mon cœur n'est pas las de l'entendre..._

Rukia mouth falls open, her shoulders sagging in disbelief, “To where?”

“To _where_?” He scoffs, “ _Tokyo_ , you idiot.”

She leaps forward, small hands pushing against his chest and in a mimicry of earlier that evening, they fall back onto the bed together. Rukia straddles his hips, holding him down, “What the _fuck_ am I gonna do in France, then you asshole?”

_Pourvu que toujours..._

But Ichigo laughs, hands coming up to cover his face, her transfer request still tucked between his fingers. It is bold and free, the deep thrum of his amusement humming through his body beneath her.

_Vous répétiez ces mots suprêmes..._

“God, you’re nuts.” He peeks at her, now silent and pink-cheeked, “I love you.”

_Je vous aime._

She sighs, walks her hands off from his chest to settle on the mattress on either side of his head and they’re close enough now that their noses nearly touch, “You’re ridiculous. When did you...?”

“The day I got out of hospital.”

_Il est si doux..._

Her lips part.

He grins, dropping his hands to his sides, “I guess you could say I beat you to it.”

“Wait, so,” she swallows, and he watches the motion of her throat as she does, “so how long until you move?”

_Mon cher trésor, d'être un peu fou..._

Ichigo’s eyes find hers, then her lips, “Next month.”

“Shit.” She whispers.

“Guess you should,” he traces the curve of her spine, delighting in her shiver, “rescind your request, eh, Kuchiki?”

Rukia shakes her head, bangs fluttering with the motion, “Are you sure? I mean, this has been your base for _years_.”

_La vie est parfois trop amère, Si l'on ne croit pas aux chimères,_

He shrugs a shoulder, “I need to face some things back home. Be there a little more than a couple of months a year for my sisters when boarding school’s out.” His fingers pause at the nape of her neck, “Look them in the eye and make them understand that I’m done running.”

_Le chagrin est vite apaisé..._

Ichigo lifts his head and kisses her, parting a fraction to murmur, “That I’ve finally figured out what home is.”

_Et se console d'un baiser..._

“You weren’t running from them.” She says, and its true.

“No,” he weaves his fingers through her hair, holds her there, “but can you expect a couple of kids to understand the difference between running _for_ and running _from_?”

Rukia shakes her head.

_Du cœur on guérit la blessure..._

“I know what it means to be brave, now, Rukia. _That’s_ courage.” He smiles as she gently drops her head to rest their foreheads together, “Am I right?”

She nods, far beyond words.

_Par un serment qui le rassure_

And she kisses him, sealing his oath. To her, to his sisters, to himself. They laugh again, twisting in the sheets, and below La Ville-Lumière is none the wiser.

But it is difficult to ignore, au moins, that it didn’t have a little to do with the sighs and giggles in the Hôtel de Crillon on this summer, Parisian night.

_Parlez-moi d'amour Redites-moi des choses tendres Votre beau discours Mon cœur n'est pas las de l'entendre Pourvu que toujours Vous répétiez ces mots suprêmes Je vous aime._


End file.
